


They're My Dogs, Goddamnit

by Ishxallxgood



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal is a dick, M/M, Poor Molly, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Wally is kinda dark, Will Graham is a jerk, they deserve each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/pseuds/Ishxallxgood
Summary: Inspired by Hugh Dancy's Molly erasure during the Hannibal Reunion, Molly is faced with the fact that her recently declared deceased husband had a living trust where he gave ownership of his pack to one, Jimmy Price.Molly is reluctant to give up the dogs, the better part of Will, and will do anything in her power to hold onto them.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 94





	They're My Dogs, Goddamnit

Molly glared at the black SUV coming up the driveway. The last time that black SUV came, she lost a husband. She was sure that it was not coming now to return him to her, what more could Jack Crawford and his men possibly want from her.

"Excuse me, what!?" She screamed in disbelief. The dogs. Evidently what they now wanted from her were the dogs.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Graham, but Will had evidently set up a living trust with specific instructions that his dogs be entrusted to Jimmy Price in the event of his demise."

"Un-fucking-believable. You are  _ not _ taking my dogs," she spat, staring Jack Crawford down. "You are not taking  _ my _ dogs, that my son is currently playing with. You will  _ NOT _ do this to us."

Jack Crawford at least had the decency to look completely defeated. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Graham, but my hands are tied," he said, passing her the stack of papers that made up Will's trust.

Molly could barely contain the uncontrollable rage which coursed through her as she read over what was supposedly her  _ husband's _ living trust. It was utter bullshit. Not once did it reference her or her son, and to make matters  _ worse _ it was drafted less than a year ago. 

This fucking man. "They're  _ my _ dogs," she hissed, papers crumpling under her fists. "You are not taking my dogs, goddamit!"

Jack sighed. He pinched his nose, and squeezed his eyes shut. "I cannot express how truly sorry I am, Mrs. Graham, but technically, the dogs were never yours."

"Fuck you," Molly spat. "Fuck you and your coming to  **_my_ ** house and fucking with my life. Will and I were happy.  _ Will _ was happy. He had finally overcome his demons,  _ that _ demon, and  _ you," _ she growled, shoving a finger into Jack motherfucking Crawford's face, "you just had to come up here and drag him back into all the bullshit. You took my husband from me, my security, my fucking sanity. You almost took  _ my son _ by putting us on that monster's radar, and now you're here to take my fucking dogs? FUCK YOU."

To his credit, Jack Crawford took back the papers with another apology. A part of Molly understood that this was not his fault, but the better part of her blamed him for  _ everything. _ For losing Will.

Molly was relieved when Jack returned to his vehicle with his metaphoric tail tucked between his legs. The worst was over. She still had the dogs, the very best part of Will. 

Her heart ached as she watched the pack play. Harley and Max chasing circles around Wally while Winston sat dutifully by. The only anomaly was Buster. Although there had always been something off about the little terrier. 

She had always suspected that the dog suffered from depression. For a terrier he had always been quiet and subdued. There were times where Will had managed to get that dog to perk up, but those times were few and far in-between. With Will gone, the poor little dog barely moved, and it was always a chore to get him to even eat. Molly commiserated. If not for Wally, she'd be right there with Buster, alive, but barely.

.

Things remained the same yet different as the days passed. There was no more Jack Crawford and the FBI. No more Will or the whispers of serial killers, just the cacophony of the dogs left in his wake. They used to be a welcomed distraction, and for the most part they still were. They had brought so much joy to their lives, the way Will's easy smile and boisterous laugh did. 

Molly missed him. She missed the man she met at the vet that day. The man who helped her smile for the first time since Walter died. 

Oh how she loved the chaos of the dogs in those early days. It had been such a wonderful distraction. But now, now these last reminders of Will Graham and the life they shared together were soured by the knowledge that they were never really hers. That although she had given Will her everything, he had not even begun to share the most primitive parts of himself with her.

Molly eyed the unfamiliar car coming up the driveway with suspicion. It was not a black SUV, but a sleek Bentley with Maryland plates. It was the kind of car she would expect a man like  _ Hannibal Lecter _ to drive. She whistled for the dogs, and urged Wally to corral them into the house as the car stopped before her and an older, distinguished gentleman stepped out.

"Mrs. Graham," he said, gently closing the car door before offering her his hand. "Rupert Metcalf."

Molly shook his hand and quickly withdrew, silently staring him down. She could tell by the way he composed himself that he was a high end lawyer. Crossing her arms, she waited for the man to continue, to state his business. It was painfully obvious what he wanted and she didn't need Will's powers of deduction to know exactly why he was here.

Before he got a chance to continue, a loud bang drew their attention to the house as the door swung open and Buster raced out with a flustered Wally chasing after him. Molly had never seen the terrier so excited in all the years she’s known him. Seventeen pounds of fury descended upon them yapping like a maniac tail swinging furiously as he launched himself at Metcalf. 

"Buster!" Molly yelled, attempting to catch the terrier to no avail as he barreled into the imposing lawyer. 

Metcalf merely laughed, scratching the dog behind the ear before pulling a treat from one of his pockets. "If it's alright with you, Mrs. Graham."

"No, no, go ahead," she said, slack jawed at Buster's behavior. The dog was  _ excited.  _ He greedily gobbled up the treat with enthusiastic yips before rolling over to expose his belly, big brown eyes staring hopefully up at Metcalf. 

A few belly rubs later, the lawyer straightened back up, sated terrier in his arms who was now snuffing at his pocket square. "What a charming boy," he said, giving Buster another scratch behind the ear. 

"I-" Molly started, before snapping her mouth shut again. He didn't need to know that this wasn't Buster's norm. In fact, she would rather get the whole business as to why he was here over with.

Metcalf watched her silently, eyes imploring her to continue. When she deigned to comply, he simply put Buster back onto the ground and pulled the pocket square from his pocket and tied it around the little dog's neck. "A present," he said, flashing Molly a smile, "for such a good boy."

Molly scowled, unimpressed. “Thank you, but no thank you,” she said, moving to remove the pocket square only to be met by a fierce growl. Teeth bared and hackles raised Buster snapped at her, refusing to give an inch. She paused, no doubt in her mind that the terrier would bite her if she tried again. 

With a defeated sigh, she turned her attention back to Metcalf. She hated the triumphant smile he wore.

"Well then, Mrs. Graham, let's get down to business," he said, giving Buster another scratch behind the ear and the little traitor leaned into it, tail thumping wildly against the floor.

"You're not taking my dogs," she spat defiantly, all civility lost.

"I was afraid that would be your answer. Unfortunately your late husband was rather explicit in his trust as to who he wanted to care for his dogs."

"They're  _ my _ dogs now," she snapped. "They became mine the moment we wed."

Metcalf sighed, removing his glasses to clean the non-existent dust off of them. "Unfortunately, that is not the case in the eyes of the law. Mr. Graham had been very clear about who he wanted to transfer the ownership of his dogs to."

"Jimmy Price? Does this Jimmy Price even  _ want _ seven dogs?"

Metcalf had the audacity to laugh at her plight, and if she wasn't mistaken, Buster was yapping along with him. "Mr. Price has agreed to take the dogs, otherwise I wouldn't be here Mrs. Graham."

Molly seethed. She honestly didn't even want to keep all seven dogs, it was too much without Will, but the idea that  _ Will _ didn't even think that she  _ should,  _ made her want to keep them out of spite. To hold onto the one good thing in their marriage. "Get the fuck off my property."

"I was afraid that would be your answer," Metcalf said, giving Buster one last pet before returning to his car. Retrieving a large envelope, he returned to Molly and handed it to her. "I had hoped that you'd comply and we could avoid such tedious proceedings as you are currently still grieving. Here are your papers, Mrs. Graham, we will be in touch."

Molly gritted her teeth as her fists closed around the envelope. Going to probate court was not on her list of favorite things to do, but going to probate also guaranteed her the dogs for at least the next few months, and for that alone it was worth it. 

She watched silently, hands still fisted as Metcalf climbed back into the fucking  _ Bentley.  _ She didn't have the heart to whistle after Buster as he chased the car halfway down the drive before giving up. With his little head bowed he trotted back, plopping down on the spot Metcalf had stood in and curled up on himself with his nose buried in the pocket square around his neck.

.

Molly collapsed into bed that night, with a head full of whiskey and her arms wound tightly around the furry body of Winston. It had been weeks since she had had to fall asleep to the bottle. Weeks since she felt the absence of Will so strongly. So she tried to drown it out with a fifth of Jack. 

She awoke the next morning to an empty bed and a pounding headache. The house was quiet. Far quieter than she was used to, which means Wally must have taken the dogs out. Rubbing her eyes, she shuffled into the kitchen, starting a fresh pot of coffee. She tossed back two aspirins with a swig of stale water before noticing Wally sitting at the table, face buried in his phone and a bowl of soggy cereal in front of him.

"Good morning, little man," she said, ruffling his hair before taking the seat next to him. "Thank you for taking the dogs out."

Wally made a non-committal noise and shrugged his shoulders, eyes never leaving his phone. "Whatever you say, mom."

Groaning, Molly buried her head in her arms, willing her head to stop spinning. "You're a good kid, Wally," she eventually said, scrubbing a hand across her face before rising at the beep of the coffee machine. Pouring herself a cup, she hoped the coffee would help and the aspirin would kick in before she'd have to take Wally to school. It was hard enough trying to pretend everything was fine on a good day, she didn't need everyone and their mother asking her how she was with a pounding hangover.

"Hey there, buddy," she said as Randy padded into the room, nails clicking against the wood floors. He pushed his head against her leg and as she reached down to scruff him, a note pinned to his collar caught her eye. The blood drained from her face as the mug slipped from her hands. Hot coffee and broken ceramic splashed against her feet, but she could barely feel it as she unpinned the note with shaking hands.

_ "I'm sorry,"  _ was scrawled, in Will's rushed handwriting across the center of the card. Tears bloomed in her eyes as they drifted lower, to the ostentatious writing beneath it. Printed with a flourish of perfect calligraphy, were the words,  _ " You were never his." _

Wally's chair scraped against the floor as she let out an ungodly noise. "I thought you knew, mom," came his steady voice, bowl clattering against the sink before he picked up the broom to clean the mess of coffee and broken mug. "They came this morning. Never seen Buster so excited before. Randy didn't want to go, but dad said it was alright, he was never his."

Molly stared blankly at the son she thought she knew. She felt like he was seeing him for the first time as he tossed the broken shards and wiped up what was left of the coffee on the floor. Randy whined at her feet and she dropped down to pull him close. This dog, the sole survivor of a serial killer's legacy, was a kindred spirit. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, hoping Wally understood. She had never wanted this for him. 

"It's alright, mom," he said, patting her awkwardly on the head. "There's nothing to be sorry for. Will was a fantastic dad, I'm glad he survived and kept his promise."


End file.
